


Threnodies

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Needs a Hug, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad Keith (Voltron), Sad Shiro (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron) Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25068094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Four years ago, Shiro became the Victor of the Hunger Games.Four years ago, Shiro, formerly Keith's best friend, stopped speaking to him.Now, on the eve of Keith's last Reaping, he goes to demand answers once and for all, unaware that doing so could put his life in jeopardy.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28





	Threnodies

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I am always SUPER nervous about posting anything, especially when it's for a new fandom. I'm terrified this is going to suck. But... well, you gotta do it anyway, right? Because if it does turn out this sucks, learning from those mistakes is how I grow as a writer. So, please tell me what you think of this one.
> 
> I have a soft spot for Hunger Games AUs because of the angst potential, and in this case, what Shiro was put through is so close to a Hunger Games scenario already, so it just seemed perfect. I hope you agree!
> 
> Well, here goes nothing.

Despite what all the other citizens of District 7 might believe, in Keith's opinion, there were benefits to living in an orphanage. Some of those benefits were small, like how none of the caretakers ever checked to see if their older charges actually got their homework done. Others were bigger, of far more importance to Keith's life… like the fact that he was also more or less free to roam as he pleased.

Keith wasn't actually allowed to do so, of course. His sneaking out was only possible for the same reason that no one checked his homework- there were too many needy, helpless babies at the orphanage, and there weren't enough workers to care for them. If he was ever discovered out after curfew, he would certainly be publicly flogged or worse as punishment. But once he escaped the confines of the orphanage, it was only a matter of avoiding the Peacekeepers, and that was a difficult but doable task. Then, once he reached his tree, he was in the clear- the Peacekeepers had far better things to do in the middle of the night than scan every tree in the forest for runaway teenagers. They needed to sleep too, after all, and their days were already so busy ensuring the lumber quotas were filled, or that no one tried to steal any scraps of wood.

It was for this reason that Keith had never been caught, and nothing short of that could ever make him give up his wandering. He hadn't even entertained the idea when Shiro had worriedly proposed it one night, so long ago.

And so, as he did so often, he clambered silently out of his second-floor window. There was an overhang above the first floor window that lessened the height of the drop to the ground, eliminating the danger of him hurting himself.

The change when he landed was instantaneous. It felt like becoming a new person entirely. Or, perhaps, like the rest of the world had suddenly transformed into a place where everything made sense, where not everything had to be terrible. In that moment he was _alive._ He could run, and everything was _okay_. He could smell the clean air, perfumed with pine, and see the stars above him. Nature was the one thing he could count on not to hurt him, and as long as he was here, he could be at peace.

Somehow, in a forest full of lumber trees, one particular old fir tree had managed to survive his entire childhood and become "his tree." After Keith's father had perished in a devastating forest fire, it had been a place where he could run and hide from his problems, where he could play with Shiro and they could pretend their woes didn't exist. Nowadays it was like a home. Keith could find this tree in his sleep by now, he was sure, and he let out a soft sigh as he patted the rough bark of the trunk.

Jumping onto the lowest branch, he hoisted himself to reach the next one, and reminisced, as he did every time he came here, about the partner who used to accompany him on nights like this. The distance between the first and second branches had been insurmountable when he was a small, thin five year old, freshly arrived at the orphanage, but it became possible with Shiro's help. The other always boosted his smaller companion on his strong shoulders. And then Keith would always reach down and tug Shiro up after him, pulling with all his might. Higher and higher they'd go, until their daring, stamina, or combined height failed them. Then they would lie on adjacent branches, calling back and forth to announce a spotted constellation or shooting star, staying as late- or early- as they could while still having time to make it back to their shared quarters before sunrise. They'd sprint back, racing each other, and once they were back in bed they'd be full of breathless, satisfied smiles. And shortly after that, they would fall asleep for the few hours they could manage before caretakers woke them. They did this every night, unless they had school the next day, it was a bitterly cold winter night, or there was a mandatory Hunger Games broadcast that made it impossible to even step outside without seeing a Peacekeeper.

Compared to the others in the orphanage, it had been a positively luxurious childhood. The occasional injury from falling, the fatigue they'd always feel during and after their work shifts the next day, and the risk to their lies had been absolutely worth it. Even now, Keith smiled at the memories. The other orphans _never_ smiled.

The memories weren't entirely good, though, as every time Keith thought of Shiro, the happiness was weighed down by a feeling of unease. It had been so long since they'd seen each other, and not for lack of trying on Keith's part. They had gone from inseparable to talking maybe two times a year, and always short and distant, as though Keith was just another kid from their settlement. It hurt more than Keith wanted to admit, and every time he went to Shiro to demand answers, he was always swiftly dismissed.

"Keith, pal, is that really you? Wow, look how much you've grown!" Shiro would always say with an unbelieving, amused tone that sounded so exaggerated, Keith was certain it was faked. "You're looking great. Stop by after work sometime, huh? Don't be a stranger!" He'd wink like some kind of Capitol heartthrob before walking away.

One time, Keith could have sworn Shiro's eyes were wet when he turned away from Keith. But that didn't make sense. _None_ of it made sense. Why would Shiro invite Keith over if he clearly didn't want to actually talk to him? Why would he act like one of the Capitol's idols _here,_ when there were no cameras around? The Capitol may have been notorious for recording conversations to make sure no one committed treason, but surely Shiro just talking to an old friend wouldn't cause Peacekeepers to swoop in and arrest them both. It wasn't like Victors were banned from having friends. Otherwise there would be no one to interview for the yearly segments showing the history of all the Mentors.

It just made no sense.

Keith sighed, pausing on the branch he'd just hoisted himself onto. Maybe another try was in order. It probably wouldn't do any good, but the alternative was letting his only friend slip away from him entirely- assuming he hadn't already. He couldn't give up on Shiro that easily. And besides, with the Hunger Games due to start the day after tomorrow, it was as good a time as any to reach out to a Victor.

Shaking his head to regain his focus, Keith started his ascent again, and made it to the highest reachable branch without making another sound. He leaned back against the trunk of the tree, comfortably balanced on a thick branch, with the next set of branches lying twenty feet above. His younger self never could have dreamed of reaching this height- he had just easily cleared one hundred feet.

Settling in, he watched the night sky. The crickets chirping felt like the heartbeat of the warm night, or perhaps a lullaby that could sing him to sleep, if it weren't for Galra's dictatorship forbidding an outdoor adventure like this. He and Shiro had dreamed about it before, dreamed of spending their time surrounded by a blanket of stars, with no Peacekeepers, no bullies, no Hunger Games. But Shiro's absence now only served to remind Keith that such a thing would never happen. Even with the freedom the orphanage allowed him, Keith was still a District 7 resident- still only a step above a prisoner. Neither he nor SHiro would never have the freedom they dreamed of.

Still, it was nice to pretend, just for these few hours, that he lived somewhere else. He saw no harm in indulging a fantasy.

He stayed in place long enough for his lower half to start aching from the weight and pressure, long enough for a ray of sunlight to peak through the canopy like an unwanted visitor. The passage of time served only to remind Keith that in just over a day, it would be time for the Reaping. Bringing himself to leave was hard enough on a normal night, but with the Hunger Games so close, it was torture. For all he knew, this could be the last time he ever got to come here.

"I'll be back," he muttered to reassure himself, patting the tree trunk before starting his climb back down. Naturally, it took far less time to reach the bottom than the top, leaving him far too little time to think about what to do about Shiro.

In no time at all, he was back at the orphanage he hated so much, pretending to have enjoyed a good night's rest. Even though he had gotten no sleep at all, it had still been more restful than trying to sleep here would have been. The orphanage was intolerable on its best days, with the babies always screeching while the toddlers threw tantrums at the slightest provocation, intermixed with the older kids and teenagers trying to kill each other for any reason or no reason at all. This was always followed by the caretakers' screaming voices and, more often than not, the sounds of their open palms striking the misbehaving children.

It was a place full of tears and bruises and empty stomachs. In some ways, they were lucky to be guaranteed enough food to survive, but they were also guaranteed to never get a morsel more than that. All the orphans had prominent cheekbones and sunken eyes. Even in summer, illness was rampant, the little ones always wailing from ear infections while the older ones tried to hide their strep-induced sore throats.

Today, however, there was another source of pain at the forefront. The anguish caused by the Hunger Games was worse than any illness or injury. It was the pain of impending grief, of contemplating mortality. And the resulting quiet, which felt like a wake, was far worse than the cacophony a normal day would bring. Those old enough to be Reaped were picking listlessly at their food, dread written on each of their faces. Without words, they all conveyed the same message. _It could be one of us. It could be you. It could be_ ** _me_** _._

Those old enough to understand what was happening, but not old enough to be in the Games themselves, were barely faring better. They ate with their usual gusto, but spared nervous glances to the teenagers, friends whispering amongst themselves, sometimes nodding or shaking their heads. _This is the last year we'll all be safe_ , they seemed to say.

"Who do you think it'll be?" Keith heard James Griffin ask the girl beside him. Keith grit his teeth, certain the comment was a precursor to some kind of insult directed at him, and took a bite of bread. Of all his peers, James was the one he fought with the most. But he couldn't take the bait today. With the nationally televised Reaping taking place tomorrow, they all had the potential to end up on the broadcast, even if their names weren't called. Therefore, any bruises they might have would reflect extremely poorly on not only those in charge of the orphanage, but the entire District. Severe punishments had been promised for anyone caught physically fighting.

"Maybe it'll be Kogane," added James with a snort. "Wouldn't that be something?"

Keith clenched his jaw even tighter, glaring down at the table and trying to focus on calming his anger. When he closed his eyes, he could imagine Shiro's hand on his shoulder, kindly but firmly telling him not to let them get under his skin. They weren't worth his attention, Shiro would assure him. They were probably just scared, and taking it out on him to make themselves feel better. It would be far easier to just let it go and wait for them to get it out of their systems.

Keith sighed. The advice he'd been given all those years ago was still a source of comfort in moments like this. Now if only the one who had given it would _talk_ to him again.

He didn't know how he had survived this long without Shiro in his life. He simply… had. First he'd thought Shiro just needed space, and then he thought Shiro was furious with him. So he'd waited, and waited, sometimes trying to reach out, and other times hoping Shiro would do it instead. But over the past year, he'd started aching to reconcile more and more. This year, he had turned eighteen, which meant this was to be his last Reaping. If he managed not to get his name called tomorrow, he would be free from the Games for the rest of his life. And realizing that Shiro would never have that freedom, would never have luxury of not thinking about the Games, bothered Keith as much as just _missing_ Shiro did. He just wanted to talk, to see what had gone so horribly _wrong_.

The instant Keith shoved the last forkful of egg in his mouth, he made his decision. As a Reaping-eligible teenager, he had the night off from work. If he could just get through an agonizing school day, he could go visit Shiro. Hopefully, if the other's thoughts were on his upcoming Mentor duties, he would be too distracted with preparations to remember to push Keith away this time.

It was as good a plan as any, he supposed. He had to try- this had gone on for far too long. He hadn't talked to his best friend in _four years_.

Really, he should have said something earlier, but… It wasn't easy when deep down, he was terrified that Shiro was doing this because he hated Keith, resented him, maybe even blamed him for the suffering he'd faced in the Arena. It was the only explanation Keith could think of for Shiro shutting him out for so long.

And if that was what Shiro really felt, Keith had nothing to say for himself; he had no defenses or excuses to offer. Worse, if he did talk to Shiro, and if he learned that that was indeed what was happening, that would make it final. No going back. If he kept the agonizing distance between them the way Shiro wanted, at least then he could tell himself whatever lie felt best.

That fear had been what restrained him from acting for so long. Not knowing hurt, but it had felt better than the possibility of _knowing._

But over this last year, when so many things about Shiro had started to bother Keith, the uncertainty and constant doubts were close to becoming more torturous than rejection would be. As his feelings had started to shift, he had discovered that a lie told to oneself could only be convincing for so long before it unraveled under the constant scrutiny ones own thoughts were subject to. The loss of an ability to fool himself was, Keith supposed, a part of growing up.

Which brought him back to his current dilemma. Keith needed an answer, even if that answer was the worst one. If Shiro really did never want to talk to him again, at least knowing would help Keith decide how- and _if_ \- to fix it. Whatever _it_ was.

Keith let out a breath as he pulled his backpack over his shoulders. That settled it, then. By tonight, he would have his answer, whether it was what he wanted to hear, or what he dreaded hearing more than anything.

Assuming, of course, that Shiro let him get even _that_ far.


End file.
